getting up

I think I had subconsciously tricked myself into believing that I was in desperate need for new friends. But I doubt that’s really the case anymore. Every time I meet someone new who, in some way, actually piques my interest – they end up being a disappointment. To that end, I want, so desperately, to tell you that I am a misanthrope. And, again, that isn’t really the case. I am self assured, entirely and totally comfortable with my capabilities. I’m also a little self-conscious of my looks. I enjoy not committing to a specific style of clothing or musical genre. I enjoy that it’s perplexing to others. I savor my articulacy as well as the fact that I can comfortably express myself polysyllabically, unlike most people, and also live to employ semantically equivalent words in normal conversation simply to confuse you. And when you nod your head and agree with me, I see right through your façade and know you have no idea what that word I just used means. I come off as arrogant, but I’m not. I’m a warm person, but my attention will wonder. I might make you feel like I’m not paying enough attention to you but, trust me, I think about you when you aren’t around. I’ve become quite erudite at camouflaging my introversion (see also: near isolationism) with a convincing veneer of carefree extroversion. I feel alone most of the time. I’m extremely difficult to get close to and I can’t explain how those who have, have done it. I swear a lot, but watch my mouth around my mom. I am particularly proud of my impeccable manners, thank you. Please don’t be offended, put off, or under the impression that I suffer from any degree of chauvinism when I open the door for you or offer to take your coat. I adore reading and like to pretend I have an epicurean palate when it comes to literature but the truth of the matter is that I read a lot of pulp trash too. My rougish charm has nothing to do with appearing agreeable to the opposite sex. Try not to be surprised when you realize just how perverse I can be. Randomness is my forte, as is imagination. I am accident-prone and absentminded. My attention wanders easily. I am equipped with an amazingly inappropriate sense of humor which I regularly augment with beyond hyperbolic sarcasm, pseudo-racisim/sexisim, and a wide variety of esoteric and obscure references. I will make fun of you. I am one of the funniest people you will ever meet. I am proud to be German and will argue to death with anyone who fails recognize German superiority (it takes a strong people to go to war with the world…twice). I’m probably not 'handsome' or ‘hot’ enough for most of you but when I look in the mirror I see sexy as me. Most of you probably won’t read this because it isn’t in a convenient bullet-style format, but most of you aren’t interesting to me anyway. I am not my list of music. I am not my general interest lists. I am not my internet profile.